


Walk All Over You

by Xyriath



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Boot Worship, Dom/sub, Gags, M/M, Restraints, Spreader Bars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:46:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4360238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Mustang's fucking face.</p><p>His fucking boots.</p><p>His fucking voice.</p><p>His fucking <i>everything.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk All Over You

“You should have known that your attitude was going to get you in trouble one of these days, Fullmetal.”

Ed glares up at the man in front of him, that smug, cocky, _insufferable_ smirk seared into his brain. He wants to spit back some insult, some challenge, declare that he isn’t sorry and that he’ll do it again if he gets the chance, but all he can manage is a strangled, wordless noise of defiance around the metal bar in his mouth. 

“And you _still_ haven’t learned.” Ed’s eyes follow _him_ as he strolls past the entryway to the chair, in front of which Ed is kneeling, gagged and bound. He wrenches, as he has the past dozen times, but gets nothing for his struggle but another twinge in his shoulders. The restraints securing his elbows, forearms, and wrists have not budged. “I suppose one day I’ll beat some manners into you.” The voice sounds bored, disinterested, as if it were discussing the weather. “But I haven’t the inclination to do so tonight. No, for now, there’s the matter of your punishment.”

Despite the thrill that runs through him at the words, Ed exhales raggedly, wanting him to know _exactly_ what he thinks of his _punishment._

Mustang plants a booted foot in the middle of Ed’s ribs and shoves, sending him sprawling to the ground. Ed struggles to get back up to a kneeling position at least, but between the arm restraints, spreader bar between his thighs, and the chain attached to his collar and the ground, the only thing he can do is snarl and struggle helplessly.

Still, that doesn’t stop him from trying, but after several minutes of fruitless thrashing, he stills, breathing hard, grinding his teeth on the bit. He can feel dampness past the corner of his mouth, on his cheek, where he hasn’t been able to swallow as much as he’d like, and that just adds to the helplessness and _humiliation_ of the situation. It burns through him, an agonizing, wonderful heat, and fuck, he prays desperately that Mustang can’t see how suddenly _hard_ he is. He tries to pull his legs closer and squirms, regretting the tight leather pants immensely–not that Mustang would have given him any other choice.

A boot nudges at his face, and he jerks his head upwards as best as he can, the rattling of the metal breaking off with a _ching_ as the chain pulls taut.

Mustang’s cold eyes stare down at him, nothing more than idle amusement in them. “Are you quite finished with your tantrum?”

Ed simply glares, baring his teeth–

And Mustang just shoves the boot onto his cheek, pressing his face down into the floor again.

He closes his eyes, gasping in ragged breaths, the pressure on his head making him dizzy, though whether it’s from pain or a desperate need for more, he isn’t sure. The shiver runs down his back involuntarily, and he can’t stop the soft moan from escaping his lips.

Finally, the pressure lifts, and Ed can breathe again. He opens his eyes and stares upwards. That expression is still merciless and unflinching, and it just sends another moan out of his mouth.

And then Mustang kneels, and Ed watches him get closer, watching him warily. Whatever he has planned, it can’t be good.

Fingers snake out, hook around the side of Ed’s bit gag, yanking him closer. The metal tugs against the sensitive corners of Ed’s mouth, and he whimpers helplessly, a strict contrast to the glare he still has leveled in Mustang’s direction.

“If you want this gone,” he drawls, “you’ll stop being such a brat. Can you do that for me?”

Ed had stilled at the mention of release from the gag, and now he watches Mustang warily, fully prepared for some trick. Yeah, he knows the bastard too well by now, but he _also_ knows him well enough that if it _isn’t_ a trick…

“I am _asking,_ if I remove this gag, can you behave.”

Ed narrows his eyes. It’s so tempting, so very tempting, to turn away with a snarl, but his jaw _aches_ and his face is a mess and the look Mustang is giving him, the fucker, makes him very, very much want to lower his head in submission–

Before he can realize what he’s doing, he nods slowly.

Mustang reaches out, fingers surprisingly gentle as he unhooks the chain from Ed's collar and undoes the gag from behind. Ed’s mouth works quickly to expel it, tongue pushing it into Mustang’s hands, which promptly toss it to the side. Ed continues to breathe heavily, swallowing, trying to regain some of his composure and coughing a little.

“Much better,” Mustang murmurs, sounding pleased, and running his fingers through Ed’s hair. “Very nice.”

Ed immediately realizes his mistake in his earlier compliance: a shiver runs through him at the words, and for a moment, he can only think desperately that he will do _anything_ for that praise again.

“Do you like that, Fullmetal?” he continues, playing with the tips of Ed’s hair before letting them fall loose over his bare shoulders. “You always have liked being rewarded, haven’t you.”

Ed wonders if his skeleton has been transmuted into wire, what with all the fucking tension that stretches every nerve tighter than he would have thought possible. He wants to open his mouth and spit a “fuck you” in Mustang’s direction, but the promise of more _rewards…_

He inhales shakily and stares Mustang down, trying not to lean forward and beg–with his body language–for more of Mustang’s hand on his head, fingers in his hair.

Mustang must see _something,_ though, because he does reach out again, grab Ed’s shoulder, and pull him upright again–or, at least, as upright as it’s possible to be with a fucking metal bar between your thighs and your arms behind your back.

“What do you say, Fullmetal?” Mustang’s voice, although quiet, rings out with authority, his eyes locking onto Ed’s until Ed is forced to lower them, cheeks burning.

“Thank you,” he grits out, and he isn’t sure if the odd feel in his mouth is from the words or from having something fucking shoved into it for so fucking long.

“Thank you _what?_ ” The voice takes a dangerous edge to it, and Ed gasps, the leather of his pants pressing tighter against his crotch.

“Th-thank you, Fuhrer.” He can’t keep that gasp out of his voice, nor the flush from his cheeks when he realizes what he has said. Mustang had wanted a “sir,” perhaps a “General,” but Ed had–

“Good,” Mustang whispers, and Ed can faintly hear that there’s a rasp in his voice where there wasn’t before, a tension, and realizes he’s not the only one caught off-guard with the word, but he can’t really think, not with the hand now sliding its fingers under Ed’s chin, cradling his head, and the touch is _so fucking warm_ and Ed vaguely thinks _of course he’s the flame alchemist_ before closing his eyes and exhaling with a shudder.

“That’s very good, Fullmetal,” Mustang continues, fingers running excruciatingly slowly under his jaw, up his face, into his hair. He’s fucking _petting_ Ed, and Ed just–he wants to roll over, show his belly, plead for more like a fucking dog.

“Fuhrer,” he gasps again, and the word comes easier this time, eyes still closed as he leans into the hand.

“Yes.” Mustang’s voice is a low rumble, deep enough that Ed can feel it even through the fingers touching him in a way that feels unimaginably intimate. “And will you serve your Fuhrer, the way that he deserves?”

Ed hears an agonized sound, and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s coming from the back of his throat. Those fingers seem almost to be _burning_ him, a demanding heat that draws unimaginable things to the surface.

“Yes,” Ed hears himself gasp, realizing suddenly that he is shaking. “Any–anything.”

“Good.” Mustang lets go suddenly, leaning back and leaving Ed reeling, flopping back into his chair, every inch of him exuding control. “Now, as for how you are to apologize for your earlier insubordination.”

Ed opens his eyes slowly and lifts them warily. What he sees does not comfort him in the fucking slightest.

No, the smirk on Mustang’s face does, in fact, bode quite badly.

Still. He nods slowly, then lowers his head in what could only be called a bow. He can feel his flush spreading to his shoulders and back, and hates, fucking _hates_ that he knows Mustang can see it.

He jumps when Mustang stretches his legs out suddenly, one ankle crossed over the other, nearly kicking Ed in the chin.

“My boots are filthy, Fullmetal. Clean them.”

Ed’s head jerks up, eyes narrowed in exasperation. “With fucking _what?”_ he snaps, giving the bound arms behind him a shake for emphasis.

Mustang lifts one of his feet then, catching the side of Ed’s head and shoving it to the ground again. The pressure from the heel grinds into his cheek, leaving him gasping against the hard wood.

“What do you think?”

Mustang sounds almost bored as he releases Ed, settling his legs back so they’re in front of Ed’s face again. It takes him a moment, but when he realizes, his stomach does a giant fucking flip-flop that leaves him lying there, stunned.

After giving Ed several moments to recover, Mustang prods him again. “Well, Fullmetal?”

Oh, and Ed wants to do it. He fucking wants to do it worse than he’s ever wanted anything else in the fucking world. Would have _begged_ to do it, if it had turned out that way, and after this, is probably going to end up begging for it in the future.

Fuck.

He gasps in anticipation, shifting for just a moment to try and relieve the pressure in his leather pants. It only makes it worse, and when he finally lowers his head over the boots, eyes flicking up to gauge Mustang’s reaction.

He can’t suppress a shiver of pleasure at the satisfaction in the man’s eyes. With that sensation filling him so completely that he can practically taste it under his tongue, he leans forward, lowering his eyes to Mustang’s boots, and licks.

The smell catches him more than the taste, and it overwhelms him for a moment, leather and musk and dust from the hem of Mustang’s cuff. It’s smooth, smoother than he expects under his tongue, and he can’t stop himself from closing his eyes again and letting out a fucking _embarrassing_ moan.

“That’s it,” he hears Mustang breathe. “Keep going, Fullmetal. Put some work into it.”

He can’t _not,_ after those words, and fuck, he wants nothing more than to lick those fucking boots spotless.

Ed gets to work, and he doesn’t even care about stopping the fucking _pathetic_ whining noises coming from his mouth as he does, running his tongue over every spot he can reach until the leather shines softly. “ _Please, please, please,_ ” he realizes he’s whimpering, and fuck, he can’t even fucking care because Mustang’s chuckling, soft and satisfied above him, and shiiiit, this is good, this is wonderful.

It takes two hands on his face to pull him away, and for a moment he is licking empty air in his eagerness before he realizes what he’s doing and snaps his tongue back up into his mouth, staring up at Mustang hazily.

“Much better,” he purrs, thumbs stroking Ed’s cheeks. “I knew you had it in you. It seems discipline isn’t completely lost on you.”

Ed nods, panting, but the words–the words don’t want to come–

“Now, let’s see about a reward.”

The hands shove him backwards, and Ed hits the ground with a force that leaves him breathless. For a moment, he tries squirming–secured arms are _uncomfortable_ to lie on–but Mustang hooks a heel in the spreader bar, yanking Ed unceremoniously across the floor in his direction, and presses the boot down into his leather-clad crotch.

Ed freezes, eyes and mouth wide. Shit. Fuck. It’s–it’s almost enough and it almost hurts and it’s almost just what he fucking wants but there’s just not _quite_ enough pressure and he wants to move but he doesn’t _dare–_

And then–fuck, oh, fffuck, Mustang presses down, and he’s rubbing the boot against his cock inside the leather, leaving Ed gasping in shock. When he does it _again,_ he can’t stop the long, obscene moan from breaking through his lips.

“I’m glad to see you’re enjoying your reward,” Mustang murmurs, continuing to grind his foot against Ed’s cock, and Ed can’t see him with his eyes, but he fucking _knows_ what the smug bastard must look like, gaze cold and amused, that infuriating smirk, and so fucking impeccably handsome that Ed can’t stand it.

He tries to open his mouth wider to beg for–for _something,_ but he doesn’t know what, and he can’t manage anything beyond a desperate shudder.

Mustang picks up his pace, and Ed is close now, so fucking close, and there’s no way he’s gonna get his pants off in time and he really wishes he’d worn underwear today because he’s about to–

 _Keening,_ a high fucking keening sound that rings in his ears and rips through his body as he comes, pleasure washing over him and leaving him shaking, whimpering, sobbing. He inhales with a ragged gasp, warm stickiness spreading between his legs, and Mustang’s foot is still there and it’s almost too much and then–

Then it’s gone, and Ed lies there, eyes open but unseeing, chest heaving, muscles limp.

He can hear Mustang shifting, standing, and he half-registers it somewhere in his brain, but he can’t really move, not like this. His eyes finally close as he remembers how to breathe, and it’s right about then that he feels a pair of hands on his thighs, then a release of the pressure holding them open. Moments later, a strong arm slips under his back, releasing his own arms. Ed lets them dangle limply; what else can he do?

Another arm tucks itself under his knees, and he’s hoisted into the air, pressed against a warm chest into which he instinctively turns, burying his face. It’s distant, but he’s pretty sure that a hand is petting his hair softly, that a voice is murmuring gentle words of admiration into his ear.

He’s been laid on the bed, his pants slid off, and right about the time that a warm, wet cloth is running up the insides of his thighs is when he starts to come back to reality. He blinks blearily until he can focus on the form in front of him, still in Amestrian blue.

“Roy,” he slurs, unable and honestly unwilling to stop the sleepy smile from spreading on his face. “Hey.”

The smile Roy returns to him is just as fond, if softer, and he reaches forward to tuck a strand of hair behind Ed’s ear. “Welcome back, Ed.” Though still as deep and shiver-inducing as ever, his voice has gentled quite a bit, and Ed wants to wrap himself in it and burrow like some… fucking thing, he doesn’t know, just wants to reach for Roy right now.

And Roy obliges, setting aside the cloth and crawling into the bed, wrapping an arm around Ed’s waist and tugging him in. He doesn’t have to do much else; Ed burrows just like he was imagining doing to Roy’s voice a few minutes ago.

“You did wonderfully,” Roy whispers, petting the back of his hair, and Ed makes a pleased noise before tilting his head back, just a little, for a reply.

“Damn fucking straight I did,” he grumbles, huffing haughtily, before pressing a cheek against Roy’s chest and closing his eyes.

He better not ever fucking forget who’s in charge here.


End file.
